And your flesh shall be a great poem
by StardustToRememberYouBy
Summary: "Combeferre's eyes searched for the source of the voice and found it had been emitted from a woman standing just in front of him. His heart sunk within his chest at the mere sight of her and he found her beautiful." Combeferre/Eponine, Enjolras/OC, minor Bossuet/Muschietta/Joly. No flames. Multi-chapter. Rating for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, I've had variations of this idea swimming around in my head for a while now and have only just now made it to fruition. I'm pretty much preoccupied with the idea of Combeferre and Eponine. If you've read my Enjolras/OC story "A Dawn of a Doom of a Dream", this story is a companion to it - sections of it will coincide with the other story, so they mesh together...if that makes any sense. And even if it doesn't make sense, enjoy anyway! As always, reviews are MUCH-APPRECIATED.

**::::  
::::**

"My apologies, madame!" Combeferre shouted over his shoulder as he passed a middle-aged woman and had, inadvertently, narrowly avoided bowling her over as he rushed to the campus. He was already late for his first lecture of the morning and knew that he would receive a strict reprimand from the professor, but there was nothing that could be done. Sometimes Bahorel tested his last nerve.

Bahorel had been roommates with Combeferre for several months now and had neglected more than his fair share of responsibilities. He had been instructed that his room in the flat should be kept tidy in case of guests, but Bahorel ignored this rule and could be quite the slob. He was also in charge of waking Combeferre on weekdays so as not to be late for his lectures, but on this particular morning, that had also been neglected.

_He'll hear it from me when I find him,_ he thought bitterly to himself as he rounded another street corner and heard the wonderful sounds of Paris as it sprung to life. Markets were opened, children began playing the streets, and struggling musicians played for small, voluntary donations, just enough to get them by.

As he approached the next street corner with every intent to keep straight along the road, little was made aware to him that on this day, within moments, everything in his life would change.

A mere footfall from where the road met cobblestone, Combeferre's deep focus was shifted as his body became aware that he had just run into yet another being.

"Oh, I'm sorry, monsieur," a meek but stable voice apologized. "I did not see you there."

Combeferre's eyes searched for the source of the voice and found it had been emitted from a woman standing just in front of him. His heart sunk within his chest at the mere sight of her and he found her _beautiful_.

Long, dark waves fell past the woman's bosom, which was tucked gently into the raggedy dress she wore. Her raiment was simple and there were no shoes on her pretty feet, all dusty from the road she walked each day. Her eyes were pools of brown that Combeferre knew with certainty that he would drown in, and her nose was shapely. The stature she bore was much smaller than his own, but he didn't mind. Thin-waisted, dirt-poor, and sad in appearance, this woman was a stunner and Combeferre found himself rendered speechless.

"Monsieur?" she repeated, recoiling from him slightly.

Combeferre snapped back to attention, not wanting at all to scare her away. "Pardon me, mademoiselle," he said gently, attempting to smile at her while realizing he was failing miserably. "I am afraid I am not myself at the moment."

The woman's face softened and a smile upturned the corners of her mouth, causing Combeferre to feel weak at the knees. Shoulders relaxed, she pointed downwards towards the pavement. "You dropped a book." When he stooped to retrieve it, she shook her head and bent over, picking it up for him. "Allow me - it's the least I could do for startling you so." Standing, she had significantly closed the gap between herself and him, now much closer - so close, in fact, that Combeferre could hear the sound of her breathing. "If you are not yourself at the moment, then who _are_ you at the moment?"

Combeferre cleared his throat upon feeling goosepimples cover the span of his flesh. "When I _am_ myself, I am called Combeferre." He took his book from her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "What may I call _you_, mademoiselle?"

The woman smirked and shook her head. "You'll find out soon enough." She backed away from him, her gaze taunting. "I know my way around." And with a spin on her bare heels, she darted off, leaving a breathless admirer in her wake.

Her voice echoed in his head for the rest of the day, pounding away as though she was standing beside him, taunting him aloud with her words. Why had she brought such a deep attraction to him? Perhaps he just wasn't used to having such a strong attraction to anything or to any one person and, though he was a rather young twenty-one, there had been little experience by way of romance. He was not his comrades.

Beside him in the afternoon lectures of European History was Courfeyrac, a young man known for taking avid, detailed notes on historical lectures, which was an excellent attribute for the disconnected mind Combeferre bore that day. He would be forced to copy his friend's notes at a later time.

"What has gotten into you today, 'Ferre?" Courfeyrac asked of his friend post-lecture as they strolled towards the center of campus. "You have been nothing but disconcerted all day and I demand to know what is wrong."

"Wrong, Courf?" Combeferre said, the fresh air reawakening his deadened senses. "_Nothing_ is _wrong_ - in fact, I do believe everything is _right_."

"How do you figure?"

Combeferre licked his lips as he spotted Enjolras, Bahorel, and Bossuet in the epicenter of the courtyard, all seated on the rim of the fountain. "There is a woman - "

"Oh, jolly day!" Courfeyrac said too loudly, loud enough that the other three on the fountain turned their heads towards them, all paying attention too closely. "It would seem that our magnanimous Combeferre has met someone."

"A just cause!" Bossuet marveled with a clap of his hands.

"I shall discuss this with you before I retire," Bahorel warned closely, his eyes indicating that they had much to discuss upon arriving home that night.

"Who is she?" Enjolras questioned, also under the charms of a young Parisian he was in the midst of courting. Naturally, Combeferre had expected the young man to be stoic about such a topic and dismiss it as folly, but, instead, the curly-haired marble lover of liberty showed a vested interest.

"That is just the thing that worries me," Combeferre confessed, taking a seat on the fountain beside his friends. "I do not know her name, though she knows mine."

"What does she look like?" Courfeyrac asked, laying down flat-backed on the pavement nearby.

"Raven hair, deep brown eyes, thin-waisted, frail-looking but athletic, it seems. Poor - her clothing was a raggedy dress and she was barefooted."

Enjolras remained silent for a moment. "Perhaps Genevieve will know this woman," he suggested. "I shall speak with her and convince her to aid in the search."

Combeferre sighed with relief. "That would be most-appreciated, Enjolras."

"Do not thank me - if my Genevieve can find her as I suspect she can, the thanks will go to her."

Combeferre nodded - a fair price in exchange for a name.

"Enjolras would know all about love and its wiles," Bossuet cooed as the group gathered their things and made their way off the bustling campus grounds together. "It would seem that love was destined to find another in our group."

Combeferre blushed. "I said nothing of love, Bossuet," he admitted. "It cannot be. I do not even know her name - how could I love her yet?"

"Your demeanor strongly reflects mine as I appeared the day I fell for my love," Enjolras confessed. "It was a happy day indeed, Combeferre, and nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I am far from embarrassed. I am still attempting to figure things out so that I may focus in our next lectures."

"When love is so near, focus is the hardest thing to come by." The blonde clapped Combeferre on the back all-knowingly, and a shrug shook the guide's shoulders. Such was a truth he had faced already, and given that he knew nothing of this woman and was, yet, so attracted to her existence, this was a strange day indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry it has taken me so long to update this story! I had to think and then rethink how to do this chapter, so I hope it adds up! Again, Genevieve Lacroix is my own creation - unfortunately, I do not own Les Mis and, sadly, I do not own France...or the revolution. Drat. Anyway, enjoy! As always, reviews are much-appreciated. :)

**::::  
::::**

The second Eponine swirled on her heels and walked away from the charming young man, she regretted her actions and wanted nothing more than to turn around, go back to him, and continue talking to him as though she hadn't up and left him in the first place. She could not, at least not at the present moment. Presently, she was attempting to focus her efforts on another young man, one she had convinced herself was worthy of her affections when, quite terribly, he just wasn't.

The man upon whom her attentions were focused was named Marius Pontmercy, a rich, handsome young man who was well-educated and paid no particular attention to Eponine. Try as she might, she just couldn't measure up to much of anything in his eyes and still she pursued him.

On this day, she was meaning to return a ledger book of his, one he had allowed her to borrow and upon which she had written miniature poems, written statements of her affections. She was learning how to read and write properly and used all of her practice on Marius himself.

Feeling the cobblestone change to pavement beneath her feet, absent-mindedness took over and Eponine's thoughts were suddenly swept back to the young man who called himself Combeferre. The way his eyes lit up whenever she spoke to him, the way the corners of his lips upturned in a nervous kind of grin that made her heart flutter.

She wanted to burst back to him, her head turning around to see where he had once been standing, saddened by the fact that he was gone from her sight. He was a busy scholar. She was certain he had much better things to do with his time than be around a wretch like her.

Frowning, Eponine completely skipped her search for Marius, her thoughts too preoccupied on the other male to properly focus on the task she'd been meaning to attend to. Fingers stealthily grasped a shiny apple nearby and quickly slipped it into her pocket - kleptomania was a way of life in her world, a means to survival. _No chance that man'll come lookin' for me again._ Her heart hoped, but her head shook sadly.

**::::**

Combeferre was starting to realize why Enjolras insisted that his lover accompany him to the Cafe for the nightly meetings. Her very presence was more than enough to inspire awe, to provoke a logical thought, and to put at ease the strained minds of young revolutionaries. He smiled as she leaned across Bahorel and corrected a line of thought that Courfeyrac had just put to paper. Had it been anyone else making the correction, Courfeyrac would have blown a gasket or perhaps even begun a slight physical altercation with the person. But since it was Genevieve, he stayed his hand and accepted the fact that her correction was because he was wrong.

Bahorel appeared quite taken with the curly, auburn-haired lover of their marble leader, and it was easy to fall for someone like her. However, Bahorel's nature was not one that often allowed romance to sway his attentions off of a good argument. With Genevieve, arguments were absolutely out of the question. He had nothing but the utmost respect for her and spoke highly and often of her.

"Combeferre," Genevieve said as she approached him, her soft voice sounding much lighter than air. His heart jumped at the attention, watching as she perched herself on the edge of the table nearest where he sat. "Enjolras has informed me that you have been having a bit of trouble lately."

"Trouble?" he said, scratching the back of his neck. "There's no trouble."

"Romantic troubles, he said, and do not lie. I can see the change in your eyes already." A kind of knowing smile was pasted across her lips and Combeferre swallowed the invisible lump forming in his throat. "He said that perhaps you could utilize my assistance in locating her?"

"That won't be necessary, Genevieve."

"Whyever not? I am sure I could find her. I know many, I have many connections - " He must have looked nervous, moreso than he thought, because she ceased speaking, her eyes studying him as her expression turned serious. "My, my. This woman must have quite an unspoken hold on you. Come with me." Standing from her perch, she took him by the hand and forced him from the chair, leading him down the stairs to the main floor of the Cafe where a drunken - and still drinking - Grantaire was seated in the corner with a half-empty bottle of wine. "Now that we are out of earshot, tell me."

Combeferre sighed, but then wrung his hand in his hands and told her everything, every last detail about his encounter with the mysterious, raggedy woman he found himself to be so enamored of. Genevieve listened intently, her face reflecting contentment every time he mentioned something with regards to her physical attributes. It was clear he found this woman attractive.

"That is quite a story," she admitted once he had finished. "Based on what you've told me, I can search for her if you would allow me to."

Combeferre chewed on his bottom lip nervously. He trusted Genevieve, of course, but he did not want all of her trying to be in vain. "What if you cannot?"

"Why so little faith?" she questioned, a smile taunting across her mouth, which forced a smile out of him. "You are wise and handsome and a decent man. You deserve to be loved by someone you feel passionately about. Trust me, Combeferre. I _can_ find her for you, and I _will_." Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before turning and heading back up the stairs. Combeferre watched as all of his faith followed behind her. If finding this woman failed, desperation would take hold of him and that was a dark place he did not wish to find.

Once he returned to where his friends were drinking, discussing politics, and being merry, he made eye contact with Genevieve, smiling and nodding in her direction. She returned the expression before facing her lover to tell him she'd explain everything later. Combeferre didn't mind at all if she told Enjolras of the help she was giving to him. Her assistance was _beyond_ appreciated.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

**::::  
::::**

Genevieve spent the entirety of the following morning combing the streets in search of the woman that Combeferre's rather vague description was trying to convey. It was a meager bit to go on, but she was bound and determined to help him out in any way she could. She had found her own happiness buried within Enjolras and knew that if what Combeferre was feeling for this woman was even an inkling of what she and her lover shared between them, she would help them make things work.

_Where are you, young lady?_ she thought to herself as she handed her outer coat to a young, homeless woman who had recently become a mother. "Here's a few francs," she said to the woman, "to feed yourself and your child decently."

The woman's eyes turned to Genevieve's, brimming with tears of shock and amazement. "Good mademoiselle, merci," she said, tripping over her own words.

Genevieve smiled brightly and nodded before excusing herself and stepping onward, eyes frantic as her mind puzzled together the pieces of Combeferre's description upon sighting a woman who seemed to fit the bill.

Torn dress, tan skin riddled lightly with negligent dirt, long hair raven in color, sullen cheeks - this _had _ to be her. It just _had_ to be.

Genevieve approached her gingerly, eyes wide and a genuine smile stretched across her lips. The girl turned to face her, recoiling slightly. "Mademoiselle?" she greeted gently.

"Who are you?" Eponine burst out, not wishing to waste any time. "What do you want?"

_This is __definitely__ her_. "I have been searching for a lady of your description and I figured you spent most of your time around this area as this is where you met him."

"Met who?"

Genevieve cut right to the chase. "You met a man yesterday morning, a young man on his way to the university. You collided with him on the corner just over there and he dropped his books." She watched while Eponine's expression softened at the memory - clearly she'd found her target. "He's a handsome man - tall, fair, nervous."

Eponine nodded. "Yeah, I met a man like that." Her accent was a bit rustic as though she'd been born and raised in squalor. "What's it got to do with you?"

"He's a dear friend to me and he felt he did not have the strength nor the means to come and find you himself, so I am here on his behalf."

"And what does Combeferre want with me?"

Genevieve smirked softly, glad that the girl remembered his name - perhaps she had been thinking of him, too. "He wants to talk with you, get to know you, and learn all about who you are."

Eponine felt her heart sink at the woman's words. So the man she had met, the handsome one, was interested in getting to know her? This was more than heartwarming, but suddenly she felt like she was slipping back into herself and shook her head gently. "My heart belongs to another, I'm afraid."

Genevieve frowned, knowing that this would come as a terrible blow to Combeferre's acceptance of all this. "I see..."

Eponine found her grip on what was happening and stepped towards the female, shaking her head once more. "No, no. You see, my heart belongs to another, but that does not mean I can't change."

Genevieve smiled brightly. "Excellent! He studies at university and then remains at the Cafe Musain until late evening with his comrades discussing politics and lectures and the like. I think it would be quite a surprise if you were waiting to speak with him after these meetings, perhaps when he and his roommate leave to return home."

Eponine nodded. "I...I can do that. I will meet him." Genevieve knew she probably would not receive much more information on this girl, so she turned to walk away. "Oh, and mademoiselle?" Genevieve responded. "Tell him my name. Tell him I'm Eponine."

**::::**

_But what of Marius_?

Eponine's heart raced. What _would_ become of her feelings for the young Pontmercy? How could she look the only feelings she'd ever held by-way of romance in the face and tell them that she is considering holding the heart of another?

A despondent sigh escaped her lips. The avid affection she had held for Marius was the only feelings of romance she had ever really known, so how could they transfer to another soul? Could they even _be_ transferred?

Eponine rushed into an alley nearby, hoping to hide her anxious response from those she saw daily - she had to save face as far as she knew. Teeth clamped down on the back of her hand in an attempt to keep from sobbing. Could she abandon her love for the dark, handsome boy she'd fallen for so long ago and adopt feelings for the becoming young man who was now seeking her attention?

She knew deep down that Marius had never and would never look at her like he loved her, would never feel anything more than a sibling's love between them. It pained her to think such things, but the cold, hard truth was something she was used to adapting to. He could never be what she wanted, what she craved, what she _needed_ in her life. Maybe this new boy _could_ be.

And why _shouldn't_ he be? He was just as good as Marius - _better_, even, as this boy had already shown more interest in her inside of twenty-four hours than Marius had shown towards her since they met. This boy, this scholar, this fair man wished to get to know her, the ratchet girl from the wrong neck of the woods, a girl from the streets, a beggar and a - what did Montparnasse label her as just the other day? Street-rat.

_I am not a street-rat! I want to be happy!_ And happy was something she had felt, even mere seconds after she'd left him on the corner, that this Combeferre could give to her. She was being given the opportunity to have a potential significant other and she knew she was a damned fool if she didn't take the offer and run with it.

Resolve startled her, washing her down with the poise she needed to make the decision in her best favor. Her decision was final, it was done. She would meet Combeferre at the Cafe that night and discuss things, all while knowing that all roads were beginning to converge.

Eponine Thenardier was awake and she was _strong_.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Gosh, I love writing Eppieferre. I really hope you all are enjoying this story as much as I enjoy writing it! Reviews are much-appreciated, as always, and only Genevieve is mine, sadly. Enjoy. :)

**::::  
::::**

Eponine wrung her hands together as she paced uneasily down the cobblestone street. Her feet were bare, cold and dry as the place where dirt caressed her skin became like a comfort to her. Nothing about her presence in these parts was normal, nothing about it screamed everyday. It didn't. Everything about her presence here practically had a sign stating tht she wasn't meant to be there, that she had no real purpose according to the standards of most, which was, of course, far from the truth.

_This is so stupid. What am I doing here? What if he cannot remember me? What if he rejects me?_ Eponine decided in that moment that if Combeferre had forgotten her, she would turn around and rush home as quickly as possible, never to come back to this street corner, not even if she were paid to do so.

All thoughts of this were pushed aside when she heard an uproarous laugh from the upper level of the cafe, and then she looked towards the entrance, spotting a few of the Amis exiting the building. Harmonious comraderie was being shared all around and Eponine slipped behind the corner to peer around and gaze in awe at the wonderfully handsome men she saw.

The kind woman from the day before - the beautiful auburn-haired lady - was arm-in-arm with a striking, curly-headed, blond man. This must be Enjolras. Eponine had heard of him from Grantaire - speak of the Devil, Grantaire exited the cafe, stumbling on a few loose bricks at his feet. And behind him, her eyes widened in excitement at the sight of Combeferre.

He looked a bit overworked, so much so that she began to second-guess approaching him, but as he removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his vest, she could feel her heart surge and she suddenly found herself craving him, wanting to be near him.

She waited patiently for him to come a bit closer to her before she dared to emerge from the shadows and as he came to be a few paces away from her, Eponine found herself more daring than she'd been in a long time, and it was all for him.

"Bon soir, monsieur," she greeted softly, not surprised at all when he jumped slightly at the sound of her voice.

"Who said that?" Combeferre said, clutching his book close to his chest.

Eponine chuckled darkly and mostly to herself before stepping out from the shroud of her own shadow.

Getting a good look at her, Combeferre's entire visage lit up with recognition, and she was glad to see his comforting glance. "You," he said. "Is it really you?"

Eponine nodded, folding her hands behind her back. "It is me. The red-haired lady from the cafe - "

"Genevieve?"

"Yes. She found me and told me you were interested in finding me again."

Combeferre nodded fervently. "I did not know where to search for you. I see that Genevieve has more than done her fair share for me." Eponine smiled and Combeferre could swear he'd found heaven at last. "Mademoiselle, I must ask what you are doing here. It is plain to see that you are not from these parts."

Eponine shook her head. "Sadly, I am not. If I tell you my true purpose in coming here, I am afraid I may scare you away."

Combeferre shrugged. "What have we to lose now that you have found me?"

This comforted her enough for her to take a deep breath. "I came here for you."

His heart was aflame. This gorgeous creature of depth and strength had come here bent on the sole purpose of finding him, of fulfilling what her heart had been so desperately longing for. He couldn't let her get away. "Mademoiselle, what may I call you?"

"Eponine," she said, careful enough not to give her last name to him. She refused to scare him away with the fear of a name, so she kept that to herself. Instead, she chose to wait to tell him, hoping that in the mean time he would not happen on that information by chance.

Combeferre closed his eyes upon hearing her name like a song piercing his veins. "Eponine." The sound of his velvety voice repeating her title was more than enough to give her goosebumps and force a smile to cross her lips. "Such a lovely name for so beautiful a woman."

"Monsieur, you flatter me too much."

"Nay, Eponine, you deserve far more flattery than I suppose you have received." He smiled at her encouragingly and Eponine found herself lost at the sight of his lips. "Where will you stay for the night? You are far from home."

Eponine nodded - truer words had never been spoken so plainly in such a way that they could perfectly describe each layer of her complex life. "There are plenty of corners, monsieur. I can have my pick of them all - "

"Nonsense. You are welcome at my home."

"Monsieur, it is of no trouble - "

"I will not stand for you sleeping on a lowly street corner. There are blankets and the promise of safety at my home, Eponine. You _must_ stay with me. I insist."

Eponine paused, half-ready to take him up on his offer. "Do you not live with another man?"

"Bahorel is a dear friend. If he minds, nevermind him. You need a comfortable place to lay your head for the night and I refuse to take 'no' for an answer."

Eponine could see that there was no backing down, that Combeferre would never allow her to make the journey back home this late, and she clearly did not want to go back home - not then, not ever again. A slow nod moved her head, and she smiled at him. "I accept."

Combeferre smiled brightly and Eponine melted. "Excellent," he said, handing her his jacket. "Here, wear this. It will keep you warm on the walk back to my home."

Eponine blushed as she put her slender arms into the swallowing grasp of his larger jacket. She had not realized how truly small she was until that moment, and moving to stand beside him was not going to encourage matters any.

"Take my arm," he said, holding it out for her to take. She slipped her arm through the crease in his elbow, not wanting to remove her arm for anything as they started their walk back to his home. She hoped that this 'Bahorel' would not mind her staying there, but she had heard talk of this man and of the brawls he was associated with. For Combeferre's sake, she wanted all to go well.


End file.
